


sooner or later

by khayr



Category: Judge Dredd - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, F/M, otp: you look ready
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:39:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3304400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khayr/pseuds/khayr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sooner or later, she realizes, this will cause her trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sooner or later

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a drabble swap with ffnet user lovelielove. ;v; It kind of ran away from me length-wise but still has that drabble kind of feel, oops hahaha.

A Judge is meant to be a machine.

 

Anderson knows this. From the day she was entered into the Academy it’s been ingrained into her core. It’s a part of her. The job comes first. Friendship is fragile. Trust is easily broken. Emotion will cost you precious seconds in a city that waits for no one. Every Judge knows these things. Most are good at holding onto these truths day in and day out.

 

Anderson sees when their masks begin to break.

 

She avoids the locker room on the busiest days, preferring not to surround herself with the usual crushing clamor of thoughts and feeling. Sometimes when she breezes through after a particularly harrowing shift she can feel the gentle strings of camaraderie weaving between her fellow Judges. It flares bright with a slap on the shoulder or a quiet mumble of thanks, unseen but certainly not unfelt. Occasionally she senses the barest trace of affection and somewhere deep down clutches to the fact that the other Judges are as susceptible to it as she is.

 

Remember , she can hear her mother saying so many years ago, This is not a weakness.

 

Sooner or later though, it’s going to cause her trouble.

 

When it finally does the first time, it’s when she least expects it; there’s a block war raging on the streets above and she’s trapped in a collapsed subway tunnel somewhere on the outskirts of her assigned sector. ETA on extraction is hours longer than she wants to be there and the slick, squeamish feeling of claustrophobia is tight in her gut. 

 

Respirator on. Six hours of oxygen, if she relaxes and keeps her breathing steady. It’s not long enough. 

 

It’s not like her to just give up however, so finally Anderson leans her back against the cold concrete and closes her eyes. A simple exercise to pass the time. She picks out the scattered Judges above her first, each a pillar in the chaos that’s running rampant through the streets. Agitators and civilians caught in the crossfire are simple enough to pick up after that. Her mind reaches further, sharpening her focus, and from there she can sense snippets of identity from each individual. One of the Judges is from the year behind her at the Academy. Another received a promotion last week. 

 

A third blazes bright with controlled anger and machine-like precision and it doesn’t take Anderson long to recognize the familiar depth of his mindscape. She sinks into the space and waits until he is no longer focused on a target before making herself known.

 

Dredd .

 

There’s the snap of attention and she feels his defenses raise, but an instant later she senses his recognition. The wariness in his mind relaxes, and Anderson is almost certain there’s a subtle wave of relief. He doesn’t respond immediately and it occurs to her that perhaps he isn’t sure how. She’s always left his mind alone for the most part, choosing to trust him implicitly after everything they’ve been through. Now that she’s there the crushing isolation of her current situation stings a little less; she clings to the softest whispers of friendship she finds. She never had him pegged as the type to form attachments but she certainly isn’t going to question it now.

 

The tunnel’s caved in at the South Street exit , she continues, giving him time to situate himself in a more secure location,  The cits are safe but …

 

You’re still in there . His answer feels concerned and Anderson knows he hasn’t figured out how to filter what he’s thinking yet. It’s touching, in a way.

 

It’s a little bit cozy, sure . There’s a flash of disapproval at her joke that makes Anderson actually snort out loud. He’s probably frowning right now. Not sure if I’ll still be here by the time they come to get me out.  A tense pause follows as the meaning sinks in.

 

Respirator on?

 

Yep.

 

No way to back-track?

 

No , she replies, focusing on keeping her breathing even,  Tried that .

 

Anderson feels his frustration and for a moment watches the way his mind sharpens and wrestles with scenario after scenario, analyzing the options presented against the resources he has at his disposal. It’s fascinating to watch him work.

 

“Dredd to Control,” she hears his voice crackle on her glove comm, “Prioritize Judge Anderson’s extraction. We need all the helmets we have right now on the streets.” There’s a weighted pause before a confirmation and she all but breathes a sigh of relief. Dredd’s focus returns to her briefly before he’s charging after some perps in his line of sight.

 

See you soon .

 

An hour later when another Judge is helping her through the hole they’ve dug in the debris, she catches sight of Dredd at the back of the group. She meets his gaze, and for a moment she senses something she doesn’t recognize from him. Relief? Approval? She’s probably reaching… it might not be anything at all.

 

Weeks pass, months pass and there’s a dozen other instances where she thinks she senses something different from him, something else… but she’s never been sure. Not enough to address it, at least. A Judge is a machine, she reminds herself over and over as if repeating the words will make them any more true to her. She is not a machine. She is human to the core.

 

Sooner or later she’ll figure it out.

 

The Cursed Earth is quiet, so very quiet compared to the constant clamor of Mega City One. It’s almost unnerving, but Anderson takes the opportunity to meditate in the relative peace of this town. Desert storms make for delayed travel, but Dredd is good company despite his constant impatience here... and the locals have been accommodating so far. Things could be worse.

 

“Should be good to go by morning,” she muses out loud, arms hanging out the window of their room at the local inn, “If you can make it that long, that is.” He lets out an unamused grunt in reply, pausing his pacing long enough to brush purposefully past her and look out the window. Although she senses his usual agitation, there’s something below his surface thoughts that she can’t put her finger on. An idea springs into her head and she’s almost certain she’ll regret it later.

 

“Do you want to help me train?” Anderson phrases the request carefully, shifting so she can just see the way he’s turned to glance down at her. Bingo.

 

“How so?”

 

“Some mental tasks,” there’s a casual tone in her voice that she knows sounds a little too open, but despite this Dredd seems resigned to help. It’s more productive than waiting around at least, and anything is better than sitting still for another twelve hours. Anderson pats the open space on the bench next to her and after hesitating briefly he settles into it. She gives him a moment to situate himself before she reaches for his face, fingertips grazing the skin at his temples. He balks back at first, but when Anderson moves with him anyway he accepts the fact that she’s just going to be a little too close in his personal space for the time being.

 

“Do I need to do anything?” the tone that comes out is softer than she had anticipated from him; beneath his palpable apprehension she feels a thin stand of curiosity. Anderson dares to run her thumb under his jaw before relaxing and closing her eyes. Direct touch makes the connection stronger.

 

“Nope.” She reaches, tentative at first before she works her way past Dredd’s mental walls and into the depths of his mind. “Sit still, maybe.” He grumbles something she doesn’t hear but obeys the request. Beneath her fingers she swears she feels him close his eyes too.

 

Each time she delves into someone’s head it’s a slightly different experience; criminals and perps tend to have scattered pathways and fragmented canals different from the average citizen. Picking through memories for leverage against them has never been that difficult of a chore. Dredd’s mind is different. Everything is neat and easy to navigate, evidence of his practically photographic memory showing through. Even pieces of his Academy days are stashed away with surprising clarity, flashes of the trial-by-fire he and his brother had received and the way he had carved a name for himself even in his first few years on the streets.

 

That’s not what catches her attention, though.

 

Unfiltered emotion is tricky to read, but Anderson immerses herself into it anyway. Here she picks up his agitation from their current predicament, but watches him wrestle it into something calmer, more controlled. His usual demeanor. She delves deeper here, nearly blindsided by raw  feeling . Friendship, certainly (she’s a bit flattered by this sentiment), but also a web of something undecided, something complex that’s difficult to decode. It might be nothing, but what it  could  be is almost a little more unnerving. There’s a soft undertone of affection she isn’t quite sure she was ready to find, a tender feel to it like it’s been stuffed away and meant to be forgotten. Duty first. Always the city before everything else.

 

Anderson feels a pang of guilt for delving this far in and pulls back, brushing against his consciousness as she slips out of his head and back into her own. Dredd stiffens against her and as her focus clears she realizes she’s unintentionally leaned her forehead into his. Heat rises to her cheeks despite her best effort and for a moment there’s an awkward stretch of silence as she leans back away from him. Dredd scratches nervously at the back of his neck, his eyes moving to look anywhere but at her. Whether it’s from the accidental closeness or him realizing what she saw, it isn’t clear.

 

“Sorry,” she laughs, hoping he won’t see through her bravado, “Lost myself. It’s like a museum in there. You’ve definitely got some fossils laying around.” It seems to work well enough; he rolls his eyes and slides off the bench, grumbling something about needing to check on the bikes outside. He disappears out the door into the hall and as Anderson senses him step outside into the dark she watches his thoughts turn over, analyzing his own feelings and sorting them back away where they belong.  A Judge is a machine .

 

Sooner or later, she realizes, this will cause her trouble.


End file.
